


You Before Me, Them Before Us

by Aravyne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 3 part fic, Children, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Slight Violence, Slightly dysfunctional love, abilities, adding tags as I go, but they're tough, posting this on a whim, short-ish fic, so all they need is the bare necessities, vague descriptions of sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 02:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aravyne/pseuds/Aravyne
Summary: Alfred groaned when he felt consciousness plague his body. Pain made his muscles ache, and he weakly reached a hand up to his head to nurse a migraine.“You’re awake,” a voice said.Alfred’s eyes shot open. He swung an arm blindly, but it was caught by a firm grip.“Wh-wha--” Alfred said. He looked around, eyes wide.The hand grabbing his arm belonged to a man to his right, his eyes sharp and his lips pressed together.Alfred wakes up confused and missing memories. He is terrified of and in love with a man he thinks he's never met. There's a little girl sitting on the edge of his dreams. And he's damn tired of everybody acting as though he doesn't deserve to know information about his own goddamn body and mind.*A damn complex summary for a relatively short fic. I've always been one for dramatics, sue me.





	

Alfred groaned when he felt consciousness plague his body. Pain made his muscles ache, and he weakly reached a hand up to his head to nurse a migraine.

“You’re awake,” a voice said.

Alfred’s eyes shot open. He swung an arm blindly, but it was caught by a firm grip.

“Wh-wha--” Alfred said. He looked around, eyes wide. 

The hand grabbing his arm belonged to a man to his right, his eyes sharp and his lips pressed together.

They were in a car. Alfred could feel the jostle of a bumpy road. 

The driver looked back from the front seat, his sandy blond hair and pale green eyes outlined by moonlight. “How do you feel?” He said.

Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t find the right words. These two men seemed familiar somehow. Like he’d seen them before. Or known them? The ache in his temple worsened. He hissed, yanking his hand out of the man to his right’s grasp and pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Who are you? What’s going on?” He mumbled.

He heard the man in the front take a sharp breath, and felt the man to his right stiffen like a board. 

“We--we’re…” The driver started, but he didn’t finish the sentence. There was a tightness in his voice. 

The one with sharp eyes spoke up. “You were in an accident,” his voice was accented--Russian, probably--and edged with danger.

“You--I know you.” This time, Alfred was certain. “I know you. What… what did you do to me? It--it hurts.” The Russian, he...there was sudden pang in Alfred’s chest that left no doubt in his mind. He dropped a hand to his heart, gripping his shirt uselessly. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. He frowned heavily. The Russian--his violet eyes, ash blond hair, towering build, thin lips, pink scarf--flitted through his thoughts, yanking and biting at his mind until he thought his head would slip open.

Alfred cried out in agony, squeezing his eyes shit. He sucked in a stuttering breath, but the oxygen in the air wouldn’t come fast enough. Or was it that there wasn’t any left? His chest heaved suddenly, and his heart beat like a rabbit’s. Not enough, not enough,  _ not enough. _ Oh god, it felt as though he would die, as though his lungs would come to a complete stop and leave him to suffocate. But wait, he was already suffocating. Jesus Christ, he was going to die in a shitty old van and next to a couple of strangers who were probably psychos who’d kidnapped him.  _ Mattie’s gonna kill me,  _ Alfred thought faintly.

His heartbeat was so loud in his ears he thought it might just make his eardrums explode.

“Oh f-fuck… stop,  _ stop _ ,” Alfred sucked in air like a fish out of water. “It--it won’t…” No more. He couldn’t spare any more of the precious breathes his body clung to.

The Russian’s voice was hazy, barely making it past the fog in his mind. “He’s hyperventilating, Arthur.” 

Arthur? The driver? Alfred latched onto the question. Yes, it was good to focus on something, anything other than the lack of oxygen. His mind thought about Arthur The Driver for a total of three seconds before he was back to the more pressing situation at hand.

What the fuck was  _ happening _ ?

He was woozy. Black spots danced across his vision. He felt his head begin to loll back against the seat, but didn’t have the strength to lift it up. 

“Well then bloody do something!” Arthur The Driver said. “Comfort him, tell him to breathe. Of all the people in the world, Ivan, I’d expect you to be able to deal with this best.”

Then there were fingers carding through his hair, and a hand was gripping his chin. If Alfred had been in his right mind, he would have been appalled by how instinctively he leaned into the touch, to  _ that  _ touch. Like it was meant to be there. Or something.

“Alfred, concentrate on my voice,” Ivan--yes, that felt right, that felt like his name--said softly but sternly. “Can you do that,  _ lapushka _ ?”

_ No,  _ Alfred thought, but somehow, he mustered the energy to nod ever-so-slightly. 

“Good. Now, breathe with me. In,” an inhale, slow and big, “and out,” an exhale, long and steady. “Again.” Repeat. “Again.” One more time. Wow, this was harder than it looked.

They continued, Ivan breathing and scraping his fingers in soothing motions across Alfred’s scalp while Alfred tried his best to steady his heartbeat. It felt like a lifetime before he was finally taking the breaths one might have after running a few miles. And the breaths one might have after one mile. And then a lap. And then it was normal, although he couldn’t shake away the slight dizziness that had seeped into his mind.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Alfred let his head drop onto Ivan’s shoulder. His hands were shaking terribly and his lips were trembling. “What…” he tried.

“A panic attack.” Ivan supplied, wrapping an arm around Alfred’s shoulder and pulling him closer. “You’ve had them before. Although, I imagine it must be difficult to recognize what’s happening when you don’t remember what it’s like.” He tightened his hold.

Alfred froze. Like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes widened. He thrashed in Ivan’s grip and pushed away. He didn’t know this man, had never seen him before! What was Alfred doing, wrapped in his arms as though he belonged there? He was completely baffled. He pointed at Ivan accusingly, opening his mouth to say something but--

The pained look in Ivan’s eyes stopped him. Why  _ the fuck  _ did it affect him like that?

So instead, he settled with, “I don’t understand.” He sounded lost even to his own ears.

“You were hurt. And lost your memory.” Arthur explained. “I know this all must seem very bizarre, but you can trust us. Keep that in mind.” 

“I can  _ trust  _ you?” Alfred had briefly focused on the driver, but he quickly turned his head to send Ivan a wary glance. “I don’t even know you! Or, I mean, I don’t  _ think  _ I know you, but I--er, I might?” He tried not to think about too hard, afraid of another headache.

Arthur nodded. “Yes, well, you do. You know us. I’m your brother.” He hesitated before continuing, “At least, that’s what you liked--” Alfred didn’t miss the past tense “--to call me. We’re not actually related, but… I’ve--taken care of you for a very long time.”

Guilt flooded Alfred’s insides. “And I forgot about you?” He said softly, his eyes going vacant.

Arthur’s head whipped back, and he reached for Alfred’s knee, his hand warm and calloused on Alfred’s bare skin. Alfred noticed for the first time that he was wearing shorts and a thin t-shirt. He shivered.

“Don’t,” Arthur said. “This isn’t your fault. Your memory will come back, just… give it some time.”

Alfred knew he should be suspicious, but it was so damn hard when these people looked so  _ achingly  _ familiar. Arthur’s hand retreated back to its position on the steering wheel, and Alfred had to force himself from stopping it. It was comforting. And reminded him of something he--fuck--couldn’t remember. Besides, right now, when he still felt pretty ready to pass out, he thought he deserved some reassurance.

He suddenly remembered that there was another man in the car. Ivan. The one who made his heart scarily uncontrollable. 

He gave Ivan an expectant look.

Ivan’s eyes met his. He didn’t say anything, so Alfred decided to be the first. “And you?” he asked.

Ivan looked reluctant to speak. “I am nobody,” he said.

Alfred frowned.

“Braginsky,” Arthur said in a warning voice, “he deserves to know.”

Ivan glared at him. “It will not change anything. He doesn’t remember me.”

Arthur glared back from the rearview mirror. “And you get to decide what he should and shouldn’t know about his  _ life _ ?”

“I’m  _ right here _ !” Alfred said, turning his hands into fists. “And I  _ absolutely  _ fucking deserve to know. Tell me who you are, Braginsky,” he said, repeating what Arthur had called him.

After a moment, Ivan laughed. Alfred took a sharp breath; he didn’t like the sound of that--not at all. “Braginsky….You have not called me that name in many years. I remember now why I asked you to stop. You always said with such  _ disgust. _ ” He spat, turning his blazing eyes back to Alfred.

Alfred flinched back, alarmed by the darkness that spread across his features. It was…  _ scary _ , a voice at the back of his mind admitted. It was like a switch had been flipped.

“Oh,” Ivan continued, his lips still twisted in a sneer, “I see. Afraid? Terrified? You  _ should  _ be, American whore. You were always too  _ stupid  _ to realize that I’m not someone you can befriend. We must be back to the beginning, I suppose. You don’t remember, but those years were just so much  _ fun.  _ The insults, anger,  _ hate,  _ venge--”

“ENOUGH!” Arthur shouted. The car stopped. Ivan didn’t.

“--ance. I was a higher ranking, you see. And you wanted to be my equal, so you slept your way to the top. Opened your legs for anyone willing to give you the time. Don’t be surpri--”

“Stop,” Alfred whispered. His heart hurt unlike anything he remembered feeling, like it had been pierced by a blade made of ice. He knew-- _ knew-- _ others didn’t affect him like this. Something about Ivan drove his emotions wild. And when he said those words--with such sincerity, such aggression--Alfred couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. He swallowed heavily, trying to wrestle his expression into less horrified, less like someone who’d been painfully betrayed, but to no avail. He would be angry if it were any other person, but from Ivan...

On the upside, this time Ivan closed his mouth. 

“You motherfucker,” Arthur said furiously. “You  _ motherfucker!  _ Don’t you  _ dare  _ take this out on him! It was HIS choice, and it was the right one! He decided to go through with it because he lo….” Arthur stopped suddenly, Ivan’s face flashed with pain, and Alfred felt like he was missing something important. He continued furiously, “And you treat him like  _ this _ ? I’ve come to expect better from you, you fool.”

“ _ Dead,  _ Arthur, I thought he was  _ dead _ .” Ivan hissed, leaning forward in his seat. “Now imagine my surprise when, after they tell me he was found alive, he wouldn't remember a thing.  _ Don't  _ tell me you’re not angry, because that would be the furthest answer from the truth.”

The disgust melted from Arthur’s face, became something akin to sorrow, made him seem many years older. He gave a sad sigh. “You think you're the only one? That you get some sort of monopoly on grieving?” He said softly. “What would you have preferred, then? That he save himself for your happiness and let hundreds of other die?”

Ivan had the decency to look regretful. He didn’t take back what he said, though. His eyes skittered around the van, looking at everything but Alfred’s. Ivan stretched his hand out in what Alfred distinguished as a silent plea for forgiveness. He recoiled. 

He wasn't sure whether he should forgive the man just like that. He wanted to, but those words had been out for blood; they had been  _ vicious.  _ They made Alfred feel wary. He wondered what kind of dysfunctional relationship they must have had before this for him act this way. “You,” he swallowed, though it did nothing for his dry throat, “never told me who you were.”

Silence. Ivan turned his body away.

Oh, there was that stinging pain again, nestled right between the pumping of his heart and soul.

Arthur frowned with disappointment. “I won’t tell him, because it shouldn’t come from anyone but you. However, it’s horribly selfish and petty of you to keep treating the information like some secret. I’ve come to expect better, Ivan.”

Still nothing. The Russian found suddenly found the car window very interesting.

Alfred wrapped his arms around himself, looking the opposite way. He wanted to cry and it was ridiculous and stupid and lonely. He took deep breaths to keep the tears from welling up. A hug would be nice, a smile, and oh, yeah,  _ if someone could fucking explain what was happening that’d be just dandy.  _ But the wave a adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins seemed to leave in a hurry, and his shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

“Sleep, Alfred.” Arthur said, noticing he was tired somehow. 

Alfred would have liked to argue, but now his eyes couldn’t seem to stay open. His consciousness left in a hurry. 

His head landing on Ivan’s shoulder, again, woke him up a little bit, although not enough to show it. His body was limp, almost curling into Ivan’s side. He was angry, yes, but Ivan felt so good, so  _ right.  _ Like home.

Like… like home? 

_ Woah, wait, _ his disoriented and lethargic mind objected,  _ something isn’t right. _

Alfred could feel the vibrations of Ivan’s voice when he said, “Arthur.” He sounded muddled, far away, as though Alfred was hearing it underwater.

“I know, I know,” Arthur said, “but he’s in pain.  _ You  _ did this to him. Besides, he can’t take much more at the moment. Let him sleep.”

“ _ Sleep, _ ” Ivan said mockingly. “Yes, of course.”

Arthur sounded irritated. “Just because he’s not exactly sleeping of his own consent doesn’t mean he’s in some sort of trance.”

Ivan scoffed. “You promised you wouldn’t do this.”

Arthur sniffed. Alfred had the image of him turning his nose up in the air. “Yes, well, my brother is gone. That boy sitting next to you is not the man we know and love. How will Matthew handle this, I wonder…”  _ Matthew.  _ At least he recognized that name. He wished for the comfort and familiarity of Matthew’s presence.

This was too much. This was all  _ too much.  _ Arthur was right. His head was overflowing with questions, but his mind was processing everything at an agonizingly sluggish pace. The sights, sounds, emotions, everything was like a bullet that was shot straight through his stomach.

Alfred hiccuped on a muffled sob. His heart clenched. 

So that was it then? They cared for a person who wasn’t him, even though he  _ was _ ? They loved a memory of him, a memory that was apparently the only piece left. He was filled with guilt, but  overcome by anger. He was still the same Alfred, right? He lost his memories, not his personality, his mannerisms, his appearance. It’s not like it was his fault. It’s not like he asked for this shit. Or… did he?

Ivan’s clothing rustled as he moved, making it easier for Alfred to lie in the juncture of his neck and collarbone, which were softened by layers of a warm fabric that for some reason reminded him of winter. He nestled in, desperately forgetting what the man had just said in his eagerness to feel comfortable, to pretend everything was okay.

“More,” Ivan said, “give him more. He must be having some sort of nightmare.”

“I thought you didn’t want me compelling him.” Arthur said.

“If you’re going to do it,” Ivan growled, “do it right.”

Strange...so strange…

_ Perhaps this is all a dream--a twisted, fucked up dream.  _ Please  _ let this be a dream,  _ was Alfred’s last thought before he drowned in a sea of black.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, there.  
> So, this is my first fic--hope you guys like it!  
> It'll be pretty short; there are only gonna be three chapters.  
> If you could please leave a like and/or a review, that would be amazing! I'd love to know what you dear readers think! Also, if you see any typos, I'd really appreciate if you could let me know!  
> -Guerra


End file.
